Chapter 594 - Indigo is Like the Sea
The art of Shukuchi, based on the Sword Saint's theory.
In a virtual world where such mysterious 'powers' factually exist, it could be called a 'beautiful art form' that is logically sound, aside from its ridiculously high technical difficulty.
Inner power and Outer Force—two principles that should never intersect. Kesshiki Ittoryu, which exists at the point where that boundary has been shrunk and removed, is the ultimate orthodox and kingly path, acknowledged by even the [Sword Queen] as 'the technical pinnacle for a player in a virtual world.'
—In contrast, there's my Four Winds One-Sword Style.
While I wouldn't go so far as to call my art, which is skewed heavily toward the 'Outer Force,' evil, it is undeniably a distorted technique that has strayed far from the proper path. The price for that is a dead avatar that can't move properly.
I fondly recall the past struggles when I would unconsciously lose track of my 'Inner' output.
Though different from that time, the current situation is that the insane operational load of the Four Winds One-Sword's 'Outer Force' has temporarily tangled the output lines for both sides.
Hence, my avatar is dead.
Dragging my body, which responded sluggishly no matter which line I connected to, I went to visit the sender of the message I'd received earlier—
"Hey, you're the one who called me. What's with that look?"
After knocking and opening the door, I was met with the sight of my personal artisan, who had frozen mid-motion with a textbook-perfect, dumbfounded expression. I laughed, and she, flustered for some reason, took a small, deep breath.
"…I-I didn't call you, I just sent a message asking 'How are you doing?'… Besides, I didn't think you'd be able to come! What about the selection match?"
Normally, the details of the selection match are forbidden to be discussed with anyone outside the Eastern Faction.
It's an unwritten rule left to each individual's conscience, which is precisely why one must abide by it as long as they believe in their own integrity… but it's a different story for an artisan from the Western Faction.
They belong to Vestol, the only one of the four factions to have sworn 'non-aggression,' maintaining a neutral stance. If the person is a close and tight-lipped member from that faction, then letting a few things slip is tacitly permitted.
Therefore,
"I lost. So, my job's done for now."
When I gave her a concise answer, Nia let out a small "Eh?" and froze again.
Pure surprise. The fact that her first reaction to my 'loss' was that emotion made me feel a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment—… right, standing is still a bit tough.
"Can I borrow the sofa? I kinda pushed myself too hard and I'm a little shaky—whoa, hey, I'm telling you, it's not like I'm seriously injured or anything. I appreciate it, though."
The moment I hinted at my discomfort, Nia shot over at the maximum speed her civilian-level agility would allow and supported my body.
Her momentum was so great that it looked less like she was supporting me and more like she was yelling, 'You're under arrest!!!' …but her expression conveyed her feelings perfectly, so I had no complaints.
None, but.
"I told you, I'm fine. You don't need to treat me with the kind of caution you'd use to put a critical patient to bed—… wait, I get it. You just wanted an excuse to hug me, didn't you?"
"Oh, you figured it out?"
"And here you were with that meek, worried look on your face. Are you an actress or something?"
Nine times out of ten, this was the handiwork of my dear friend, Mitsueda-san. Nia has been picking up all sorts of strange wisdom and techniques lately, and it's making my days quite nerve-wracking—
"…Was your opponent… [Peerless]-kun?"
Nia, now perched on the arm of the sofa next to where I was buried in the cushions, murmured hesitantly, her expression shifting again. This time, it was probably not an act…
"What's the basis for your deduction?"
"Well, thinking of an Eastern ranker participating in the selection match who could beat you in a straight one-on-one fight right now… I guess he's about the only one."
A maiden's heart, trying its best to be considerate of a man's feelings, however little she could see of them.
At her gentle face, so earnestly trying to show me concern, I, too, returned a genuine smile.
"You're underestimating my senpais here in the Eastern Faction. Tetra isn't a direct combat type, but Hina-san and Gen-san are seriously strong, you know."
"So, you can't beat them?"
"I can. My win rate's about eighty percent and forty percent, respectively."
"I don't know whether to be shocked that Hina-chan has a twenty percent chance of winning against you in a 'face-to-face, ready, set, go' fight, or impressed that [Twin Fists]-san has a sixty percent chance."
"By the way, under certain conditions, I have a one hundred percent chance of losing to Goldow."
It's about fifty-fifty in a one-on-one, though. As an afterthought, I declared, "And against my master, it's basically one hundred percent," a statement that was one part joke and nine parts truth. Nia let out a small laugh…
"Hey, um…"
"Yeah?"
From what I could gather, it wasn't like Nia had any particular business with me.
And I, who had come here saying I had business, hadn't really come for any specific reason either.
It was almost lunchtime. I'd log out, eat, and then go watch the afternoon matches with my seniors as promised… This was just a way to kill time until then.
Or so I thought.
"…I'm… really weak against that look on your face. Did you know?"
A troubled, yet incredibly gentle gaze and tone of voice.
I tilted my head at the incomprehensible words she offered along with it… and as I did, I vaguely considered just what kind of expression I was making.
"……, …………—"
I tried to say something, but for some reason, the words wouldn't come out. It was only then.
Finally, I was able to admit—that I wasn't okay at all.
"…That kind of thing between boys… I don't really get it, but…"
Even as my head was pulled forward and I was restrained against her stomach, where she had once body-slammed me… I couldn't put up any real resistance, and it had nothing to do with my body's poor condition.
"When it comes to you, I've somehow started to understand."
I didn't even feel the urge to escape from the soft hand gently combing through my hair.
"So…—you don't have to put on that face like a puppy trying so desperately to act tough. You can just let it all out. Big sis will pretend she didn't see a thing, okay?"
"……………………Who are you calling… big sis?"
As I let out a last-ditch, pathetic retort, I relaxed my body and sank into the indigo.
…Yeah, that's right, I'll admit it.
I had subconsciously come here of my own volition.
To her—the one who, more than anyone, tells me to "show her my cool side," yet more than anyone, loves to expose my uncool side. To the meddlesome, pampering girl.
I had come here because I wanted to.
"…For the record, though."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh."
"…This isn't the kind of thing where I'd cry, or anything."
"Aww, I wouldn't mind if you did, you know."
"Don't get cocky."
"Ahaha. When you're like this, you're just cute, even when you're trying to act tough."
"You little…"
Without even realizing it, and so unlike me.
It seems I had been so frustrated, so utterly dejected from the bottom of my heart.
Go on and drown in it.